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“I’ve thought about that. I don’t think that it is so much that the jump is required but more so it is a choice given to the Bold Wing. They have to want you back.”
Meira could admit now that she did want Remis. At least in some twisted way. She’d wanted to kill him, and maybe that would have solved everything, or maybe when her memories returned she’d realize she’d ruined her life. There was too much unknown for her to make any sort of decision and now here she was with these overwhelming feelings. Now she knew what it felt like when he touched her. She longed for his smile and the way he laughed.
Did he want her though? Truly? Would he choose her?
Remis had been interested in what Kindred had said, but he was interested in the power that it gave him. Was that enough? To be bonded to another human would be far more intense than what they felt with this curse lingering on their skin. Right?
“What do you say, Nikremis Lexmore? Would you like to bond with a witch?”
It might be the only thing that could save them.
33
Remis
Every breath he took brought with it a new rush of agony. He’d done well to keep himself still against the edge of the chamber, except he couldn’t stop from reaching out to Meira. The moment she’d moved close enough and her fingers had brushed his, he’d needed that touch. It was what he thought about when they’d shoved a blade through one of his hands. He remembered how she’d confessed to love when she didn’t understand why or how. Their kisses were art framed and admired in the confines of his memory. They were what he searched for in his mind when a guard had slammed his boot into Remis’ ribs under which several of them cracked.
What do you say, Nikremis Lexmore? Would you like to bond with a witch?
They didn’t know if it would work. They might just be giving each other infections down here in this awful dark dungeon. Though when the other option was the gallows he didn’t see much way around it.
He’d wanted this bond with her anyway, hadn’t he? The power and connection Kindred had spoken of felt like an intoxicating dream. He hadn’t wanted it like this though. What Meira wanted was important too. He didn’t want her with her back up against the wall and no other choice but to jump off a metaphorical mountain into the unknown. Would they catch each other if they tried?
It was already hard to breath but the question had made him exhale so powerfully that it became almost unbearable to inhale again.
As they were, they were bloodied, broken, and weak. If what Kindred had spoken of was real then perhaps this would give them a fighting chance. Meira could be more than a witch and a scale rider, she could be better. He could rival even the best of the mages. They could find a way out of this prison.
“Meira Spektor, it would be my pleasure.” His voice was rough from screaming through the pain before, but he meant every word he said.
Her thumb stroked against his cheek once before she gently pulled her hand away.
“Let me—” She growled under her breath. “Can you cut yourself with your nail? We don’t need a lot of blood.”
The hand that gripped the bars still had an open wound. He didn’t need to cut himself to draw for blood, he was already bleeding. Even his lip was busted and slow to crust over.
“No need, the guards already helped me out with this.” He shoved his aching hand through the bars and felt Meira gingerly reach out.
There was a short intake of breath as she felt around the wound. “I’m sorry,” she said before forcing her finger into the gash.
Dots of color appeared behind his eyes and Remis’ head swam. The cursed mark felt like someone had poured ice-cold water on it one moment and then thrust his hand into a fire the next. Meira’s touch eased away. The colors he’d seen disappeared as quickly as they’d come.
Then Remis wanted.
Meira.
A shared bond.
A life past tomorrow.
All of it he wanted so fiercely. He envisioned that bond, a stretching mental walkway between them, that he’d dove into in the forest with Merritt and Percy. Remembering how he’d flung himself at her until he’d been where she was. Only this time when his consciousness began to shift and his body felt as if it might float away, he found Meira already there. A bridge between them had formed and she stood at its center.
What distance had been created from his mind and his physical body had eased some of the pain he sat in. Now he was able to race toward her light, toward the angelic glowing version of herself that sprinted toward him.
“Don’t stop,” her voice rang out inside of him as though it was his own thought. Remis kept racing toward her, never slowing, not even hesitating when they grew close enough to collide. What part of them existed on this metaphysical plane, passed through each other.
His spirit passed through something thick as a curtain but velvet soft as it parted allowing him entrance. Light poured in and a fresh wind pushed back long strands of hair. He startled as he watched himself—no, not his body, but Meira’s—as she hurried through a home that he knew. He’d never seen this place, but he knew it. Because Meira knew it. His hands, her hands, cradled a small bird, its neck cocked at an unnatural angle. The space with its modest furniture and simple decor was home. They ran around searching for someone with the comfortable ease of knowing.
A woman, all curves, with the same green eyes as Meira stood in the kitchen bent over a bowl, peeling away the outer layer of an onion. Mother. She stopped when she saw them run into the kitchen and come to a sudden stop on the other side of the table.
